Valleys

The syncopated rhythm

beating in my chest

remains detached.

Bubbling hills

sway as if the wind

could move them.

I am a brick-laid

mint-green house

within a cherry forest.

The golden crest

falling on the horizon

yawns to spite me.

Surrounding every

plateau are shocking

valleys for broken things.

Isn't it true that

if there are mountains

all else is a dent in the earth?

There is no

in between when all

I see are extremes.